


Her lips are like the galaxy's edge

by heavenisalibrary



Series: Tumblr Prompt Fills [11]
Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-24
Updated: 2014-03-24
Packaged: 2018-01-16 21:17:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,388
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1362076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/heavenisalibrary/pseuds/heavenisalibrary
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s had romances in his life, sometimes short, sometimes great and sweeping — he’s been in love and he’s been loved, but he’s never, ever been with someone who brought out this side of him. He loves River, of course, to distraction — but the passion she brings, the raw sexual energy that crackles between them like static is new to him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Her lips are like the galaxy's edge

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: 12 or 11/River - young!River has a little black dress
> 
> This is absolutely PWP. All I can offer the world is banter and smut, honestly.

River’s standing in the center of the party in the shortest, tightest black dress he’s ever seen. It’s made of something sleek and slightly shiny with thin straps, one of which is slipping down her arm, and a neckline that emphasizes her ample assets. Her legs are bare, her heels are high, her lips are painted a deadly red, and he catches himself wondering why her crowd of adoring fans don’t just fall to the floor and bow at her feet because she’s so obviously a goddess. 

He tries to control himself when she’s younger, but when he’d thought about the scenario all those years ago, he’d entirely underestimated how impossible it would be to resist a determined River Song. Originally the Doctor had promised Rory that he’d keep his hands to himself, but after an unfortunate experience with a Pond family camping trip, the Doctor had abandoned any hope of keeping things between he and his far-too-young wife platonic. He just couldn’t do it. Millions of people on hundreds of planets considered him a great man or a great warrior — just knowing that he’s pitted against them can turn armies on their heel, but one weekend with River Song shattered all of his defenses. He’s just glad that it does actually take her a good while to realize how wholly, stupidly devoted he is to her; he’d do anything she asked, and given the dangerous hobbies she often keeps, it’s probably a good thing she doesn’t fully appreciate that until she’s older.

The Doctor hears her call his name over the din of the crowd, and he gives an awkward little wave, shifting his weight forward and back on his heels as she says something to the people clustered around her and makes her way over to him. He watches with a mixture of irritation, jealousy, and pride as at least four pairs of eyes fasten to River’s backside as she walks away.

“Hello, sweetie,” she purrs, and it’s not like anyone can blame him for possessively wrapping his arms around her waist as she presses her body into his, and giving the gentleman nearest to them a bit of a glare. “Got my message?”

“Yes, dear,” he says. “I’m nothing if not prompt.”

“Don’t be so down on yourself, honey, you’re not nothing.”

“Cheeky,” he says, “I’m sometimes prompt.”

“Once in a blue moon.”

“Which are more common than you’d think, when one has a time machine, love.”

“An abundance of pet names tonight,” she says, as though it’s so unusual for them. He smiles at her, and swoons into her a bit as she wraps her arms around his neck. Her heels make her nearly his height, and so they’re eye to eye, nose to nose, lips to lips — lined up in every way.

“I’m sorry,” he says, “I’m feeling awash in affection.”

“For me?” she says, batting her eyelashes absurdly.

“No,” he says, leaning forward, his nose brushing against his cheek as he moves to whisper in her ear, one of his hands sneaking down from her waist to smooth down her side, ribcage to the top of her thigh. “Affection for this dress.”

She smirks. “Do tell.”

“It’s not the sort of affection one could do justice in words,” says the Doctor, pulling back slightly and pressing a kiss to her neck. He feels her shift her weight against him, her hand flexing where it rests against his neck — so he does it again. “I could show you how it makes me feel — I’ve been told, once or twice, by exceptionally unreliable sources — namely you — that I can be very articulate when I… talk with my hands, as it were.”

He wants to write an ode to the slight catch in her breath as she responds.

“Are you flirting with me?” she says. “The dress is going to get jealous.”

He pulls back completely so that his nose brushes hers, their lips nearly aligned, and she grins — it’s a little less teeth than it had been the last time he saw her, so she’s a little bit older, and he thinks he might have found the perfect storm of a River who’s still young and cruel in that way he not-so-secretly loves but who’s also not likely to burn a building down or rob a bank before the evening ends.

“I guess we’ll have to separate you from it, then,” says the Doctor, and her laugh is divine — warm and throaty, like mercury running over pebbles, and the Doctor thinks he could subsist off of that sound for centuries. He thinks it would keep him warm in the coldest winters of the chilliest ice planets in the farthest, darkest galaxy he can think of.

“Definitely flirting, then,” she says, and when he leans in to finally kiss her, she pulls back with a bit of a pout that just makes him want to kiss her more. “I wore the dress because I thought you’d be more difficult than this.”

“And…”

She laughs again, this time brightly, delighted with him. “And it makes my arse look phenomenal. It’s pretty excellent to begin with, so that’s saying something.”

“As if River Song would ever dress solely for me.”

“Too right,” she says, “but if what I wear has the added benefit of making you — what was the phrase you used? — _awash in affection_ , well, then, no complaints on my end.”

“Nor mine,” says the Doctor. “I haven’t seen you from behind, admittedly, but I must say, it feels phenomenal.” He slides his hands down to rest on the curve of her ass, which was a bold move in general, but when they fall into their banter, he tends to lose sight of things; she puts him in this sort of stupor where everything he says is suddenly salacious and all he wants to do is laugh and smile and touch her, and also look at her, and not cares who sees him looking or touching or hears his ridiculous, _ridiculous_ flirting. He knows that all just about adds up to love, but he’s not had this sort of love in — well, not for a very long time at any rate, and it’s all a bit heady and hard for him to resist or function with, even after centuries of being River’s husband. It’s perhaps even harder when she doesn’t know they’re married, because he wants to dote on her even more.

She sways her hips against him just a bit, but it’s enough to make his mouth drop open, and as she shifted to press one leg between his, giving him a bit of a superior smirk, he let out a rather undignified choking noise. She leans her weight toward him and his hands flail a bit before moving to rest on her hips, because if he let them stay any lower, he’d certainly pull her into him which is the absolute last thing he should be doing right now in full view of other people. If he could tear his eyes from her, he’d find them an escape route.

“Affection indeed,” she says, her eyes flicking down pointedly and then back up to him with a smirk. “Although you did say actions speak louder than words.”

“Yeah,” says the Doctor, running a hand up and down her spine slightly nervously, since he can’t move his hand from her long enough to tug at his hair, nuzzling his nose against her cheek. He’s totally gone on the way her eyes crinkle at the corners as she tries not to smile in that utterly besotted way he knows he does all the time. “Not big on words at the mo.”

“You could show me,” she says.

“Show you what?”

“How fond of this dress you are,” she says with a wink, and he laughs.

“I could,” he says, “but I’d run out of material fairly quickly.”

She blinks.

“Well,” he says quickly, “the dress is smashing, honey, but it’s rather the person in it who I could spend millenia showing my affection to — if you know what I mean. Not to be coarse, or anything.”

“Oh, now,” says River with a smile, “you do words just fine.”

“I promise you,” says the Doctor as River shifts her leg upward for a moment to press against him, and he has to pause, “it’s mere coincidence that they’re making any sense at all. My brain stopped working at least fifteen minutes ago.”

“Your brain never stops working, honey,” says River, scraping her fingers against the back of his neck. He wants to kiss her so badly, so badly that it’s almost all her can think about — so badly that he’d kiss her with everything in him right here, in front of all of these people, and not think anything of it. But she seems committed to this banter — this extended foreplay — and it’s made him at once hard and weak at the knees, and so he stalls, relishing her every touch. She’s an assassin, after all — she’s spent lifetimes learning how to use her body to her greatest advantage, and every muscle in her body is finely-tuned and -honed. He knows she could kill him with her index finger alone if she wanted, but he’s rather glad he instead gets to entertain her full-bodied efforts to get him into bed instead. 

“It’s one of the things I love about you,” River continues, kissing his nose. He smiles softly, and when she shifts her leg against his hardness again he closes his eyes for a second, and she kisses each eyelid, his forehead, his temples. He opens his eyes as she kisses the corner of his mouth, and he sways toward her as she pulls back, but she wavers just out of reach. “That big brain — do you know, sometimes, when I actually bother to go to class, I feel like I’m going a bit mad? Everything trickles by in slow motion. Don’t misunderstand, I love my human parents and I have a handful of brilliant human friends but sometimes I just — sometimes I just need…”

“Someone to put you through your paces,” he says.

She raises a brow.

Quickly, he adds, “I didn’t mean that to sound so filthy.”

“You failed,” she says.

“Well, now that I’ve said it,” he says, tightening his arms around her and spinning them around — she laughs breathlessly — and walking her down the hallway, away from the people milling about, and to a less inhabited, darker area. He presses her to the wall, and without giving her a chance to cut in again, he presses his lips to hers. She pulls back at first, gasping, her lips parted, and he hesitates wondering if there’s perhaps more to this than her maddening love for extended foreplay but after a moment she all but lunges toward him, wrapping a leg around his hip and pulling him closer with her arms around his neck, kissing him for all she’s worth. 

He could kiss River Song from now until the end of time, linearly, with no skipping ahead, and never feel bored. He steps closer and all but crushes her against the wall — not that she minds — as she shifts her body against his, always moving. The dress drives him mad, now, because it’s between his skin and hers, and he kisses her harder for it, his hands skimming from her ribcage down to her waist over her hips and up again, the pressure increasing when she shifts her hips just so. She’s the one with the exhibitionist streak — he only admits his own when she forces his hand — but he can’t help but feel a surge of pride as he thinks about how all the people saw them go down the hallway, how they’d now know beyond the shadow of a doubt that he and River belong to one another. When he’d come to the party, she’d been surrounded by admirers, and he’d felt the eyes on her even as they entered into their own private bubble. River’s possibly the most gorgeous woman he’s ever seen, definitely the most flirtatious, most assuredly the most terrifying, in the shortest, clingiest dress and he’s a Time Lord, yes, and he makes a great show sometimes of being above silly human things, but he has a possessive streak toward his wife that runs deep. _Especially_ when she doesn’t know she’s his wife. He wants everyone at the party to know that River’s taken. He wants everybody at the party to know that there’s someone who’s devoted not one, but two hearts, wholly to her.

Her lips are soft and warm and her hands slip under his suit jacket, pressing against his chest and his back with clawing fingers, as though she can’t get close enough — he knows the feeling — and her tongue runs over the roof of his mouth in that way that makes him putty in her capable hands. He ruts against her — he can’t help himself — and when their bodies meet just right she makes the most delightfully sound into his mouth, a needy whimper deep in her throat, and so he does it again. He realizes, dimly, that they’re all but having sex against the wall of a hallway, and if someone so much as walked past the entryway they’d be seen, but all he can think about is _that sound those eyes those lips those teeth those grasping hands that arse_ — he wants her, always, and when she pushes him and draws him out like this he feels like he’s completely disconnected from himself. 

The part of him that flails and turns about and hides behind tawdry quirks gets pulled away by her flirting and batted eyelashes and tiny, tiny dresses and the way that she always knows exactly what to say to him, the part of him that has a concept of appropriateness and what he should and shouldn’t do falls away like a shadow to the sunrise, growing longer and thinner and fainter until it’s gone altogether. She’s more than a little dangerous, that way. It’s why they don’t travel alone together for too long — in some ways, she’s a good influence on him. But they get so wrapped up in one another that everything else loses its importance, everything else seems a little too cold and a little too slow compared to his wife, and he knows they’d be dangerous beyond measure, left alone, together, for too long. He’d destroy entire galaxies and not lose a wink of sleep if he had her curled into his side at night. He thinks, briefly, wildly, that perhaps one day they’ll slip up, and perhaps that’s Trenzalore — perhaps that’s the fall the Silence conceived. The perfect way to end the Doctor: a mirror he could lose himself in.

He pulls away from her, kissing her neck, making sure he leaves marks on her soft, exposed skin. She throws back her head, and makes that throaty whine out loud, and the Doctor finds himself pressing his hips into hers again as he kisses that spot on her neck that makes her weak, and again until her breathing is arrhythmic and shallow, until she’s rolling her hips against his, too, and he reaches under her leg to hoist it higher, and when he presses back against her, he has to kiss her again to halt the sharp noise of pleasure she makes, and without giving himself permission to do so he’s reached between their bodies and shimmied his hand beneath her dress, only to find that she’s got nothing underneath. He’s so glad he didn’t know that — he wouldn’t have even had the presence of mind to take her down the hallway if he’d known that.

He slides his fingers over her slick sex, drawing teasing circles around her clit as she digs her fingers into his shoulders, throwing her head back again so that it bangs against the wall behind her. He just watches her as he presses two fingers inside of her, watches the way she bites her lip as he curls them to press against that spot that makes her hips jerk, watches how her mouth falls open as he pulls his fingers out and then pushes them back into her, her eyes closed, her breath short. His eyes drop to her chest, nearly bursting out of her dress as she swallows back a moan when he presses the heel of his hand to her clit on his next stroke, and lowers his head to kiss her decolletage, running his teeth over her soft skin as he fucks her with his hand. Her breath hitches even further as he begins to move his fingers in and out faster and faster, and he can hear her hearts falling out of rhythm and feel her beginning to clench around him.

“Sweetie,” she gasps, and if there’s more to that she forgets it when he shifts his thumb to press down hard on her clit, moving his fingers within her, and she arches her back, preening against the wall like a cat in hit, shifting her weight like she could crawl out of her skin with pleasure, and this time it’s him burying his groan in her skin as he bites down on her shoulder. He knows she’s close, but she grabs his wrist to stop him, and he looks up at her in surprise. Her pupils are blown wide and her cheeks are flushed as she says, “just get inside of me. Now.”

“Here? Now?”

“ _Doctor_ ,” she says, as sternly as her heavy breathing will allow, “ _I_ was being rather well-behaved until _you_ started this, and if you don’t finish it, I’ll kill you. Again. I will really, properly kill you and —”

He stops her with a kiss, slipping his hand from beneath her dress as she reaches down to open his trousers and shifts his pants down until she can wrap her warm little hand around his erection, and he has to close his eyes and grit his jaw to keep from coming right there and then — she keys him up like no one ever has and likely ever will. He’s had romances in his life, sometimes short, sometimes great and sweeping — he’s been in love and he’s been loved, but he’s never, ever been with someone who brought out this side of him. He loves River, of course, to distraction — but the passion she brings, the raw sexual energy that crackles between them like static is new to him.

When he doesn’t think he can take it anymore, he swats her hand away, and she doesn’t need any time to adjust — she hikes her leg up high on his hip as he shoves her dress up, and then in one smooth motion he presses inside of her, deep at he can, and it’s sheer luck that he hears the cry rising in her throat and claps a hand over her mouth before he makes their presence rather more obvious than it already is. His other hand settles beneath her thigh that’s wrapped around his waist, and she holds onto his shoulders as he begins a steady rhythm; his hand remains pressed against her mouth, her eyes locked to his, and he knows she enjoys that bit a mite more than she should. 

“You must be very quiet,” the Doctor says, his voice so low that he barely recognizes it. “I know that’s not in your nature but I’m going to move my hand now and if you make one noise and we get people back here —”

River says something behind his hand and he removes it to hear.

“Then don’t move your hand,” she says.

He blinks at her, but doesn’t have time to say anything or really think about it before she lifts her other leg up and around him, locking it at the ankle with the other one and giving him an even deeper angle than before. He shifts his hand to rest under the curve of her ass, supporting her as best he can, but her thighs are strong enough to kill a man, probably, and she squeezes them around him to hold her up as he fucks her, pressing her into the wall — it’s a precarious position, but there’s some bit of trust in that, and it thrills the Doctor even more. He presses his hand more tightly to her mouth as he begins to move faster and harder, and he feels her short breaths against his palm, can hear her muffled gasps. When he rotates his hips just so he feels her body tense, and so moves even faster, feeling everything within him draw up as she gets tighter around him — she lifts one hand from his shoulder to move his hand up so that it covers her nose, too, and he looks at her in alarm, but her eyes are dark and pleased and calm, and so he lets her — her body shakes beneath his, and he knows she’s going to fall over the edge at any second, and when she nods slightly he adds a bit more pressure with his hand so that her breathing stills. It’s an interesting contrast; the way her body moves desperately against his, the way her fingers cut into him, the way she flutters around his cock, the way her hearts move double-time in her chest as he whole body trembles, but she’s not breathing now. She trusts him so implicitly, and he’d never do anything she didn’t ask for, but her body begins to shake even more and he can hear the dull pound of her body against the wall behind her, the quiet slap of skin against skin, but not her breathing. She struggles slightly, but he maintains eye contact, and knows she doesn’t want him to let up. She feels so tight around him, her whole body curling, and the next time he thrusts into her she comes hard — it takes him two strokes to follow after as she shakes and shakes from the inside out. He lifts his hand from her mouth and she gasps and sags against him, and he lets one of her legs down as she blinks wildly. He kisses her fluttering eyes and her cheeks and her forehead and her neck and each collarbone as she comes down, pausing to appreciate the way her chest heaves after being deprived of oxygen for a moment. He steps back slightly and slides out of her, pausing to breathe for a moment before tucking himself into his pants.

“We should do this more often,” says River, her voice weak as she licks her lips and tilts her head back against the wall with a residual moan. He steps into her, kissing the side of her neck.

“Have semi-public sex?”

“God,” says River, “yes. _Yes._ ”

“Spoilers,” he says, and she smiles at him, her eyes heavy. He can’t help but kiss her, this time more slowly — it’s like she’s drinking from the endless well of affection he has within him for her, and when she pulls away, she lets out a deep sigh, the sort that makes his spine tingle. “Why did you call me here, anyway?”

“I can’t make an intergalactic booty call?”

“ _River_ —”

“Hush, hush,” she says, kissing his lips again. She wraps her arms over his shoulders again and pulls him close, and he basks in the sentimentality of the moment, even as he reaches down to right her dress to cover her again. “Mum and Dad wanted you to come.”

“Wanted me to — !?”

“Oh my _god_ ,” River says, sounding just like the mother in question, “no!” She slaps his shoulder, shoving him away. “Fuck, _no_ , I have half a mind to send you on your way right now that’s —”

“That’s _not_ what I —”

“You’re the _worst_ —”

“Oh, shut _up_ ,” he says, kissing her until she smiles again, laughing against his mouth as he pulls away to press a kiss to her nose. She just smiles at him for a moment before speaking again.

“Amy got a new job. She wanted you to come to the party, and she knows you never answer your phone,” says River.

“Amy wanted me to — _this is your parents’ party_?”

“Yeah,” says Rory, standing in the doorway with his arms folded over his chest. Amy comes up behind him, leaning on his shoulder and glowering. “And we were having a great time until one of our friends came up to say they thought someone was shagging in the hallway.”

“Luckily we waited a while before coming to investigate,” says Amy, “so we missed the show, but bloody hell, that does not mean you don’t have to do up your trousers _right now,_ Doctor!”

The Doctor jolts to life and turns his back to the Ponds, quickly pulling up his pants and doing up his trousers as River no doubt laughs at his awkwardness. When he’s done, he springs back around and hurries toward the Ponds to offer a hug, but before he can so much as touch Amy, she holds up a hand.

“I don’t _think_ so, Doctor,” she says. “I need a good ten minutes to forget that my adult daughter and imaginary friend just shagged _in public_ at _my party_ before we so much as say hello.”

“Yeah,” says Rory, glaring at River over the Doctor’s shoulder. The Doctor knows she’s rolling her eyes without even looking at her. 

“In my defense,” he says, “I didn’t know this was your party. She didn’t tell me that.”

“That’s brilliant,” says Amy. “Even better that you’re bumping uglies in public at _strangers'_ parties.”

"So you'd prefer we do it at family events, then?" says River. The Doctor claps a hand over his face.

“I’m gonna — I’m gonna go get a drink,” says Rory, and Amy nods. “Or ten. Come and say hello in, like — yeah, like ten minutes. Maybe fifteen.”

“And go _wash your hands_ ,” says Amy, wagging her finger sternly.

River laughs brightly, grabbing the Doctor’s arm and dragging him toward the bathroom and listing to him all the shades of red he’d turned during that conversation. The Doctor makes a mental note to ask questions before letting his wife — especially his young wife — drag him into anything.


End file.
